


flower

by silverkatana



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 21:11:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverkatana/pseuds/silverkatana
Summary: all my scars are you, so it's okay.





	flower

_ Soft_, Seungcheol notes drowsily as he lets his fingers get tangled in Jeonghan’s hair, inhaling his familiar citrusy scent with every drawn breath. Jeonghan shifts in his sleep, but doesn’t make any further movement.

He drags himself closer to Jeonghan, pulling his fingers away from Jeonghan’s hair and draping his arm over Jeonghan’s waist instead. It’s a familiar feeling, one he’s grown so accustomed to that he’s able to sense the way Jeonghan’s breath stills temporarily.

“You’re awake,” he whispers, soft in the silent air so as to prevent disturbing Jihoon and Mingyu. His words come out as more of a statement than a question. Jeonghan shifts a little in his embrace, but doesn’t reply, so Seungcheol tries again. “You’re awake.”

“And you should be asleep,” Jeonghan mumbles back, grogginess evident in his slurred tone, and Seungcheol breaks out into a grin as he lets himself settle into the familiar softness of Jeonghan’s bed. (He should be glad Jeonghan sleeps like a rock, since he’s pretty sure a single movement would be enough to send him sprawling off the bed and greeting the floor.)

“Sorry,” he replies, even though he isn’t, not really. He wraps his arm a little tighter around Jeonghan’s waist, feeling his breathing soften as he drifts into the thralls of sleep. When he holds Jeonghan close to him and buries his nose in the crook of Jeonghan’s neck against their shared pillow, Jeonghan doesn’t stir, and Seungcheol lets out a breath as he realises that Jeonghan is already fast asleep.

So he closes his eyes, and embraces the warmth that Jeonghan’s presence brings.

Seungcheol ends up falling asleep to the steady rhythm of Jeonghan’s breathing and the scent of citrus in his hair.

─────────── ☽ ───────────

The alcohol stings the back of Seungcheol’s throat, but he’s taken to enjoying the taste by now, and he relishes the slight sour tinge as he brings the glass to his lips once again. 

Jisoo eyes him with amusement from across the table as the last few droplets of alcohol leave the glass in languid drips. “You’re going to knock yourself out like that,” he remarks, although he makes no move to halt Seungcheol as he reaches over to pour himself more alcohol.

“All of you will pass out before I do,” Seungcheol huffs, setting the bottle back on the table, “Your alcohol tolerance sucks.”

Jisoo raises his eyebrows. “I’m not even drinking, Seungcheol.”

“Boring,” Seungcheol mumbles, purposely loud enough for Jisoo to hear, and Jisoo retorts with a ‘_childish’._

Before Seungcheol can remind Jisoo of the fact that they’re the same age, Jisoo reaches forward and pulls the glass bottle a little further away from Seungcheol. “Besides,” he says, a little gentler this time, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want your last memories of this dorm to be you passing out from drinking too much.”

Seungcheol frowns in his direction. “We’re drinking because we’re happy, you know. To celebrate that we’re successful enough we’re getting a new dorm.”

(His words sound too clearly like a lie to him, even if he’s been trying to convince himself for weeks that he means what he said.)

Jisoo goes quiet for a long time, his fingers tapping along the side of the table idly before he brings his hand up to rest his chin upon his palm, shooting a long, disbelieving look at Seungcheol. “Was that for you, or for me? Because I don’t think you’re convincing either one of us.”

Seungcheol sighs. “There’s no reason for me not to be happy.”

“Oh yeah, _sure,_” Jisoo begins sarcastically, “Because it’s clearer than day that-”

He cuts himself off, and Seungcheol is about to ask him why until he feels a familiar weight along his shoulders. He knows who it is before he looks, before he smells his distinct thick scent, before he utters a word.

“Why do you two look so glum? C’mon, smile, we should be happy that we’re finally moving.” Seungcheol swallows as he hears Jeonghan’s laughter ringing loud and light in his ears, and he can feel Jisoo’s pointed gaze piercing into him as though he could read the twisted, troubled corners of his soul.

_ You. _

_ You’re my reason for not being happy. _

But he can’t tell Jeonghan that; he would never understand. He never has. He’s never known. He’ll never know.

(The pain, the loneliness, the unhappiness that comes with losing him.)

So instead he settles on, “I’m happy, really. Can’t you tell?”

And he forces a smile onto his face, the brightest one he can muster, so when Jeonghan tilts his head and peers at his face he looks like the happiest person in the world.

“No,” Jeonghan says in the end, and Seungcheol stiffens as though someone had rammed a wooden plank along his spine. “You’re not.” _ How did you know? _

From across the table, Jisoo shoots him an ‘_ I told you so _’ look. Seungcheol bites back his tongue and remains silent.

“I don’t know what it is, but I hope you cheer up soon.” Jeonghan’s features soften into a smile as he steps away, his arm slipping off Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Seungcheol echoes hollowly, watching mutely as Jeonghan heads away to the general direction of their bedroom. The door clicks shut, barely audible amidst the distant chatter of the other members sitting in the kitchen, and Seungcheol swirls the alcohol in his glass in an attempt to avoid Jisoo’s prying eyes.

Jisoo’s sigh breaks the silence. “You can’t hide it forever,” he mutters, “You have to do something about it someday.”

“Yes, I can,” Seungcheol responds stubbornly, taking another sip and letting the flavour rest on his tongue long enough for it to sting. “I’ve done it for long enough, haven’t I? Only you and I know.”

“Shouldn’t he have the right to know?” Jisoo’s eyebrows furrow as Seungcheol pours the remnants of the alcohol in the bottle into his glass, but, again, he doesn’t make any attempt to stop him from doing so. “Are you just going to live like that?”

Seungcheol exhales. The breath feels knocked out of him, like he’s been running without end for hours and he can’t breathe fast enough to replenish all the oxygen he’s used up. “Yeah. I am.” One sip. A long sip. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“And how do you know that?” Jisoo presses.

Another sip. Faster this time. More than just one sip, perhaps. More like a gulp. The back of his throat burns. “He’s never understood,” he replies, harsh but quiet all at once. “Everything I’ve done… The nights where I climb into his bed, he just thinks it’s because I can’t sleep but I don’t want to wake Jihoon or Mingyu up. Every time I call his name he doesn’t hear anything behind it. He doesn’t see the way I act around him, Jisoo-yah.” 

He pauses, downing another sip, or two, or ten. The bitter taste turns sweet on his tongue, overwhelmed instead by the cold bitter smile that fits itself onto his lips. 

“He doesn’t understand, Jisoo,” he exhales, soft and weary. “He doesn’t.”

Jisoo falls silent.

Seungcheol tilts the glass back, and the alcohol drains in slow droplets away from the glass and down his oesophagus.

He forces himself to widen his crooked smile as he sets down his emptied glass, the reflection of the glass making the dim lights fall like crystal tears against the table’s surface. 

“Goodnight, Jisoo.”

─────────── ☽ ───────────

This time, when he climbs down from his bunk and settles himself into Jeonghan’s bed instead, the latter is still awake, the faint glow from his phone screen being the sole source of light in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Jeonghan puts his phone away when Seungcheol curls up next to him, turning to face Seungcheol instead. In the gloom, Seungcheol can’t make out his features, but they’re burned so well into his memory that he can visualise every feature on Jeonghan’s face anyway.

“Can’t sleep?” Jeonghan whispers, shifting himself a little closer to the edge of his bed to give Seungcheol more space.

Seungcheol hesitates.

“No,” he decides at last, reaching over to comb his hands through Jeonghan’s hair. It’s shorter now, less tangled, but he does it all the same. Jeonghan lets him. “I came here because it’s the last time.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Jeonghan understands without asking, so he remains still as Seungcheol reaches up and tangles his fingers in his hair. “Do you want to talk?” Jeonghan questions, not protesting even as Seungcheol traces patterns along the back of his neck and runs his hands through Jeonghan’s hair over and over again.

“No,” Seungcheol whispers. “This is okay.”

Jeonghan nestles himself closer to Seungcheol, and Seungcheol lets himself move on instinct, reaching down to put an arm around Jeonghan’s waist. It’s familiar. Too familiar. Too ingrained in him to be let go of.

“I’ll miss this,” Seungcheol says before he can stop himself.

He can hear the smile in Jeonghan’s voice. It hurts as much as it heals, the agony and warmth blossoming side by side in the chambers of his heart like a flower growing bit by bit in the dark. “I’ll only be one floor away,” Jeonghan murmurs back in reply, voice slowly becoming heavier with sleep. “And I’m sure other members won’t mind if you do this next time. Wonwoo’s your roommate, isn’t he? He’s a good kid.”

Seungcheol buries his nose in the crook of Jeonghan’s neck and shakes his head. “It’s not the same,” he responds bitterly, because it isn’t. It can’t be, and he’ll never do this with anyone, not unless it’s Jeonghan.

(But Jeonghan doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. He shouldn’t.)

“It’ll be okay,” Jeonghan tells him, so soft and gentle and comforting, and for a moment he almost finds himself believing Jeonghan’s words.

_ But it won’t be._

“Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

He tightens his embrace, closing his eyes and counting the steady one-two rhythms of Jeonghan’s inhale and exhale.

The smile is still present in Jeonghan’s voice, saccharine sweet, angelic almost. “Goodnight, Seungcheol-ah.”

He refuses to cry, lest Jeonghan’s pillow be still wet with his tears in the morning, so he settles on pulling himself as close to Jeonghan as possible and drinking in his familiar scent as far as his lungs would allow, blazing every possible memory into his brain; the feeling of his arm on Jeonghan’s waist, the way Jeonghan’s hair brushes the side of his face and leaves the scent of citrus blossoms lingering along his cheek, the steady rise and fall of Jeonghan’s breathing, the touches of warmth that his body brings.

He doesn’t ever want to forget.

─────────── ☽ ───────────

“Goodnight, hyung,” Wonwoo says, drowsy and already barely standing upright, as he reaches over to flick off the lights.

“Goodnight.” Seungcheol listens as Wonwoo delves under the blankets, shifts around for a bit, and then stops moving. After not hearing any signs of movement for over five minutes, Seungcheol can only assume that he’s already fallen asleep, and he lets out a tired sigh.

It’s been a while since they’ve moved into their new dorms, and while he’s grateful for the improved living conditions and upgraded furniture, it’s still hard to get used to. Sometimes, he still walks into his bedroom thinking he has to climb to the top bunk, and sometimes, he still says goodnight to Wonwoo and stops himself before the names of his old roommates leave his tongue.

(And sometimes, he wakes up in the middle of the night and searches for Jeonghan in his sleep-hazed awakenness, but he doesn’t want to admit that.)

Tonight, too, he stares fixedly up at the ceiling, wondering why the greedy grasps of sleep have decided to leave him alone for so many nights in a row. (To be exact, ever since the day they moved dorms.) Wonwoo gave him the okay a long time ago to play music if he needed it to fall asleep, but he’s grown so used to sleeping in silence in his old room that nowadays he prefers to stare into nothingness until he finally falls asleep.

Or maybe it’s because Jeonghan isn’t around anymore to switch his music off for him when he leaves it on at night, but that thought is one that fills him with bitterness, so he’d prefer not to dwell on it.

He misses Jeonghan.

Seungcheol sucks in a breath at the thought, even if it’s the same thought that’s been plaguing his mind ever since he first moved into the new dorm and his new bedroom.

He ends up falling asleep restless and unsettled, arms embracing cold emptiness, his breaths rising and falling in tandem with only himself, and the smell of his pillow scentless and unfamiliar.

─────────── ☽ ───────────

Seungcheol is crying before he can help himself.

The stress of the comeback, the tireless days of practice sessions after practice sessions, and the withheld frustrations and unspoken pain culminate into a conglomeration of unresolved feelings that spill out of him in the form of acrid tears running along his cheeks that he doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s alone in the dark, the sun having set hours ago, with the rest of the members fast asleep in their respective bedrooms, washing away the rising exhaustion of each day’s work with the precious moments of sleep that they can catch hold of.

He’s so tired. He’s so, _so_ tired.

It’s a suffocating feeling, and he can’t tell if it’s his outpouring of feelings and pain that’s choking him or if it’s just the tears. He feels so helpless, like he’s trying so desperately to catch something that’s always just an inch out of reach, like he’s trying to jump and reach something above him only to trip and fall before his fingers can brush it.

He can’t let the rest see the way his eyes are red-tinted and puffy with clear evidence of his feelings, nor can he walk into his shared bedroom with Wonwoo with his cheeks still messy with tears and muffled sobs still shuddering through his body.

So he does the only thing he knows to do.

It’s a wonder he doesn’t trip and fall, really, given his blurred vision and all, as he runs up the stairs, two steps at a time, not caring whether or not he stumbles. It’s another wonder that he manages to open the door at all, given the way his hands are shaking so much he feels like he’s lost all control of his fingers.

He shuts it behind him as quietly as he can, drawing a breath as he surveys the area in the gloom. It’s unfamiliar to him, but he knows it well enough to navigate the corridors and arrive in front of the door to the bedroom he knows belongs to the person he needs to see the most.

“I know you’re awake,” he utters, soft but too loud in the blank silence of the bedroom, as he closes the door after stepping into the room. He wonders if Jeonghan catches the waver in his voice.

Allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark, he watches as Jeonghan rolls over. “What makes you think that?” Jeonghan says, peering over to check the time on his phone.

“Your curtains aren’t drawn yet. You don’t sleep unless it’s a total blackout in here.”

He walks towards Jeonghan’s bed, and Jeonghan smiles faintly. “Seungcheol-ah, you’re on the wrong floor.”

“I know,” he says quietly, slipping under Jeonghan’s covers and curling himself around Jeonghan all the same. Jeonghan opens his mouth to speak, but when he turns and sees the tears streaked along Seungcheol’s cheeks, the words die in his throat and all that he releases is a soft ‘oh’.

The silence drags on until Seungcheol untangles himself from Jeonghan and meets his worried gaze, letting loose a small hiccup and a barely-there grin. He must look like a complete mess. “Are you okay?” Jeonghan asks finally.

“Mm.” Seungcheol sits up and reaches forward to draw Jeonghan’s curtains, enveloping the room in darkness, so dark that he can’t see a thing. He finds his way back under Jeonghan’s blankets all the same, and he ends up dragging himself as close to Jeonghan as possible all the same, knowing exactly where he is even without seeing.

It’s an odd feeling, crying into Jeonghan’s pillow, letting his tears make their mark on the soft fabric. Yet it’s a familiar thing, Jeonghan’s pillow, and that makes his tears flow faster as reminiscence turns into thorns that lodge themselves in his throat.

Seungcheol doesn’t ask if he can stay the night.

Jeonghan lets him anyway.

“Thanks,” Seungcheol says at last, after his throat is hoarse from crying and his eyes raw from the spilling of his tears. He knows Jeonghan is still awake to hear him, because his breathing is still shallow, not fitting the steady one-two rhythm he’s long memorised.

“Always,” Jeonghan whispers in response, and as Seungcheol reaches up to comb his fingers through Jeonghan’s hair, he realises this time that Jeonghan is facing him. “You’re tired, aren’t you? Go to sleep. It’s going to be okay.”

The feeling of Jeonghan’s arm around his waist, pulling him closer, and the warmth of Jeonghan’s breath on the crook of his neck as he nestles himself by Jeonghan’s chest feels new yet familiar all at once, and for that brief moment suspended in time, he feels the way his heart grows calm and his soul meets serenity.

“Don’t cry,” Jeonghan murmurs, running his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, letting them get tangled and untangled in a repeated pattern, drawing light little circles on the back of Seungcheol’s neck, his other arm fitting perfectly around Seungcheol’s waist. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Thank you.” Seungcheol closes his eyes, listening to the one-two rhythm of Jeonghan’s heart and the one-two rhythm of his steady breathing, drawing in the familiar citrus scent of his hair and committing it all to memory. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

The smile is tender in Jeonghan’s voice. “Goodnight, Seungcheol.”

He falls asleep to Jeonghan’s familiar warmth and the rhythm of his beating heart.

─────────── ☽ ───────────

“Come and play!” Jeonghan yells, his voice high with excitement and his eyes dancing with childlike eagerness.

“I’m tired!” Seungcheol retorts, making his way over to the bench as Jeonghan rolls his eyes and calls him an old man. “And for the record, we’re the same age! And you get way more tired than me most of the time!”

Jeonghan settles on sticking out his tongue before springing right back into the basketball game that the rest of the members are currently immersed in; it’s been a long time since they’ve been able to have a nice break like this, a free evening spent playing outside under the darkening hues of the setting sun. 

Seungcheol can’t hide the smile that crosses his face at Jeonghan’s antics as he takes a seat, thoroughly exhausted from the previous games that he participated in - why did Mingyu have to be so effortlessly tall? - and settles for simply spectating instead, his smile widening into a grin as he watches Jeonghan chase Chan around incessantly.

He could settle for this, he realises.

Just - _this._ Seeing Jeonghan happy. So oblivious and so light-hearted, so innocent. Almost like a young child again.

His smile is enough to make flowers blossom.

For some reason, it makes him happy, too.

The bench creaks, and Seungcheol blinks as Jisoo takes a seat next to him. “Another old man, huh?” he says teasingly, and Jisoo grunts in protest, mumbling something along the lines of Jeonghan being the most like a sixty year-old out of all of them.

They’re about ten minutes into being absorbed in the game when Jisoo interrupts Seungcheol’s attention.

“You’re in love with him,” he states. 

Seungcheol takes a long moment to realise that Jisoo has followed his gaze to where he’s watching Jeonghan, and then he pauses, because he doesn’t know what to say.

It’s not something he and Jisoo have ever discussed, something that remained unspoken but well-known between them. Yet Jisoo has decided to speak of it, clear as day, and he’s unable to hide the unease that rises in his chest at the suddenness of it.

He lets the silence linger for a few seconds more before he decides to reply.

“Yes, I am.”

Jisoo lets out a soft hum and leans back against the bench, and Seungcheol frowns slightly at his behaviour. “I thought you already knew.”

“I did,” Jisoo responds simply with a shrug, “I was just wondering if your feelings had changed, but clearly they haven’t. I mean, I should’ve known, but you know, just making sure.”

“What do you mean you should’ve known?” Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “We haven’t spoken about this since… that day. And you know I wasn’t intending to.”

Jisoo laughs. It’s not humorous, but neither is it malicious. “I’m not an idiot, Seungcheol. You expect me to believe you were at the studio the day Wonwoo woke up and realised you weren’t in your room?”

Seungcheol’s frown fades into an expression of neutrality, and he heaves a sigh as he considers the meanings behind Jisoo’s words. “I know you don’t want me to do this,” he says eventually, “But Jeonghan doesn’t think anything of it, so it shouldn’t matter so much to you. In the end, I’m the only one who’ll be hurting, right?”

The emotions on Jisoo’s face are hard to read. They scare Seungcheol, almost. “Don’t you think he deserves to know?” he mutters stubbornly. “That everything you do with him means something? That his best friend has been in love with him for one-third of his life?”

“He can’t find out,” Seungcheol exhales, “He can’t. What if he finds out, and he runs away?” The thought is asphyxiating, the thought of Jeonghan being anywhere but near to him, and it terrifies him. “It’s easier like this, Jisoo-yah. If he’s going to be by my side forever, it doesn’t matter to me whether he knows or not.”

“It’s not fair,” Jisoo protests tiredly, dragging a hand over the side of his face in exasperation. “It’s not fair to him, you know. He’d feel terrible if he ever found out. Do you really want to keep doing this to him? How would he feel if he knew he was unknowingly inflicting scars on you by being so oblivious because you didn’t tell him?” His tone grows more ragged, more frustrated, more helpless as he turns to Seungcheol and sees the way he’s too happy, too _ satisfied _ with the _ unfairness _ of it all, as though the pain and peace that blossomed inside of him had both turned into happiness. As though it didn’t _ matter_. “And to yourself - do you really want to keep hurting yourself like this? You’re hurting yourself and you know it, especially ever since we split into different floors for the dorm. Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you so _ okay _ with it?”

“He won’t find out,” Seungcheol says, a faint smile crossing his features as he turns to face Jisoo, and he wonders if Jisoo can see the way the dim violet hues of the skies fall into his eyes and make them shine with the light of seven thousand crystal tears. “And besides, hurting is okay.” 

He turns his gaze to where Jeonghan is laughing, and he remembers everything - from the way his arm fit along Jeonghan’s waist to the sound of his voice, soft and beautiful, in the silence of the night, to the quiet steady rhythms of his breathing and his heartbeat. To the feeling of his hair tangled in his fingers, to his hair along his cheek and his breath on the back of his neck, to falling asleep to his warmth and the scent of a million citrus blossoms in his hair. 

He remembers it all. 

It makes him happy. 

So he smiles a little wider, and lets Jisoo see the way the dim light of seven thousand crystal tears fall into his eyes. “Anything is okay,” he says softly, “Anything is worth it if it’s him.”

**Author's Note:**

> and this marks my third jeongcheol fic! i swear my fics are getting longer and longer, lol. anyway, hope you enjoyed x
> 
> [twitter: @yoonjeongcheols](www.twitter.com/yoonjeongcheols)


End file.
